


ain't it a fine life

by fangirl6202



Series: ain't it a fine life? [1]
Category: Newsies, Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Gay Newsies, Italian Racetrack Higgins, M/M, New York City, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl6202/pseuds/fangirl6202
Summary: Every Newsies knows: don't get attached. Never get attached. They'll leave, or something will happen to them.Why doesn't Race ever listen?Everytime he did something good, life decided he wasn't worth it. Everytime anything good happened to him, life would rip it away from. Every. Time.Everytime.





	ain't it a fine life

**Author's Note:**

> This is tagged Spot/Race but Spot doesn't make an appearance until the next installment.
> 
> This story does have a rape attempt but I assure you, NOTHING happens. It gets stopped. 
> 
> Listen, this is pretty angst heavy, but once you get past this chapter/installment, it won't be. The others are actually really light and fluffy compared to this.

If Racetrack Higgins had to describe himself at the moment, dumbass and stupid would be the first words to come ta mind. Only a damn lush would be crazy enough to be outta doors in these conditions, but it was too late to go back. He was now in the middle of the worst wind storm New York's winter had given. He knew better. He knew he shouldn't have been outside, period, much less with only his sleep shirt on.

 

But he couldn't be inside the Lodge for another damn second.

 

  Running, he passed places he sold near, memories flooding back to his mind, but he just kept running, tears streaming down his face. He didn't know where he was going, only that he needed to keep running. Running until the smell of death and disease that chased him blew away in the wind.

Winter was always a hard time for any worker in New York. Little heat, no warm clothing, not enough money or food to spare. Work days felt longer and the nights felt shorter. Disease and death rose. The newsies knew this, but it didn't make it any easier. Winter was hard on all of the Manhattan Newsies, but out of them all, the _bambini_ suffered the wost. They had kids as young as four, the oldest being ten. Every year, every goddamned year, the older boys let them sleep in their beds in hope of saving them from catching their death from the cold. Two, even three small children crammed into beds that was meant for one person. It didn't matter though, everyone slept with a partner.

Antonio was one of the few newsies that didn' sleep with nobody. Used to, him and Albert shared, but after becoming second-in-command, he got his own bed in the far corner of the lodge. He never' liked sleepin' alones;

 

Which is why he let her sleep with him.

 

Laces was a small girl, one of their youngest. She was sweet, and kind, and naive, and everything youse shouldn't be in the world. She reminded him of his own sister...

 

He decided having a youngster as a partner wasn't a bad idea.

 

Against all his judgement, he took the girl under his wing. Gave her the name Laces cause her boots were so big on her, she had taken to tying her laces round her ankles. Taught her how to play poker, fixed her hair in the mornings before slapping a cap on her, he even taught her enough schooling to know how to read the headlines. Theys became quick selling partners, almost putting Manhattan leader Jack Kelly behind thems. They took a spot near the the trolleys and managed to sell near a hundred papes a day with fabricated sob stories. They used every trick in the book, and they was both ashamed of it, but Antonio couldn't afford to care. He needed to make sure Laces had a sound roof over her head, a job, that she ate.

 

  A bit of Catholic guilt was a small price to pay.

 

  When winter came, Laces moved to his bed, snuggling close into his body when the cold night was too much to bear. Every night after dinner and a small round of poker with the other newsies, Laces would fall asleep curled up into a ball, and Antonio would cuddle up to the thin girl. She looked so much like his Karina that it pained him to look at her some nights. But for the first time in ages, no night terrors plagued him.

 

He loved Laces. He loved her to the point where he told her about his past, about his life before the newsies. Coming through Ellis Isle as a _ragazzino_ from Mezzogiorno; his family's small farm and all the goats he cared for; his baby sister Karina and how alike they were; hiding his immigrant status to protect hisself.

  That had been a hard been concept for Laces to grasp.

  "Whatsa mean protect yourself?" Laces asked, big eyes looking up at him.

  She was too young to know the actual truth, that Italians were considered the spawn of Satan himself, 'specially those who came over. Race was only 5 when he and his ma made it over: anyone who knew could pull a barker on him at any time. No, he wouldn't tell her that, not until she was a little older.

 

  "The fellas would holler if they knew I's had tha accent."

 

She was the only newsie to know his birth name. His _birth name,_ not the Americanized travesty that officials had slapped on him when he came in, but his _name._ Not even Jack knew it.Timidly, she asked one night if she could call him Antonio if no one was around, and he had surprised himself by saying yes. He hadn't realized how _beautiful_ his name was, how much he'd miss being called it until he realized it had been years since someone had. 

In the dark of the night, she'd ask for stories.

"Antonyo," she'd whisper into the dark, mispronouncing his name just a bit with her accent. "Tell me a story?"

He'd kiss the top of her head, " _Va bene_ ," and he'd comply. Tell her stories told to him as a boy, stories from his own boyhood. She'd fall asleep and he was content.

 

He should've known it wasn't fit to last.

 

It had started when Laces couldn't keep up with him during the work day. Usually a livewire, he'd have to tell her to hotfoot it if theys wanted to make it to their spot on time. Then she wouldn't eat nuff at dinner, leaving half her food untouched. When she started coughing, it hit Race like a trolley, crushing him as the poor girl coughed herself half to the grave.

 

_No, no, no, no, no..._

 

  "Race!" Someone called after the work day and he looked over his shoulder to see the Cowboy walking over to his bed. Stopping a few feet away, he looked down at Laces, already asleep despite the fact that the sun was still up. "Race, what's goin' on with Laces?" He asked, voice full of concern. Apparently even Jack knew Laces was acting all possessed like lately. Race grimaced. Jack loved all the kids. Hell, half of the guttersnipes had been brought in by him, given a name and a job. Laces was Race's favorite, but Jack had been the one to welcome her to the Lodge.

  "She's dying," he breathed out, not trusting his voice to be steady. Evading the truth was pointless. The implication was clear: Disease.

  Jack said nothing, only widened his eyes and looked down at the frail girl before turning on his heel and walking away. 

The other Newsies caught wind of it and a gloom fell over the Lodge. No announcement of any kind was made, everyone just simply... _knew._ Every year, without fail, they lost someone. More often than not, it was a child. Some years, entire _groups_ of newsies were lost. A section of the wall in the bunk room was basically a shrine, drawings Jack had made pinned up as a remembrance. Illness, injuries, murders, any and all of it. Four of the kids Race had come in with were on that wall. It was traumatic and cruel knowing that nothing could be done, but it was life.

 

And life went on, with or without ya.

 

A quarantine had to be called. They couldn't risk any other newsie catching ill and spreading. "Starting today," Jack announced that night at dinner. "Nobody can go near Laces. None of yas. Understood?"

Jack, Crutchie, Albert, Romeo, Specs and him had to stay in the next day to organize the quarantine, giving their quarters to other kids so they wouldn't lose a day's pay. Race had protested at first, saying that Laces was his responsibility, but Jack had simply stated he wouldn't be able to do it alone. Whether he meant physically or mentally, Race wasn't sure. But Jack was right;

 

It was the hardest thing Race had done in a long time.

 

Despite being far from the other bunks, beds were moved even farther away from Race's. The girl's old clothing was burned, her plate and cup and were tossed out from their makeshift pantry, her money being put into the communal fund now that they knew she wouldn't need it anymore. Slowly, he watched as any sign of Laces' life with them went up in ash and smoke.

They tried to burn a blanket of hers, a white one with flowers on it, but Race had grabbed it back. Laces' mother had given it to her as a birthday presents, and it was all she had left of her family. No one else knew, but Race knew it would kill Laces if he had let them burn it. Taking it from the small pile of Laces' possessions, he placed it over the covers already on her. If the boys noticed, they didn't say anything.

When everything was taken care of, the eight of them went downstairs to play a quick round of poker. Race tried to protest, saying that Laces needed someone with her, but a look from Jack told him there was no backing out of it. They played a few hands, all of which Race won half-heartedly, in silence. No one said anything, and no one wanted to. An entire hour passed before Crutchie acknowledged the corn. "Who's gonna take care of her? We can't leave her there to die."

A beat of silence. No one looked at each other, only at the worn cards in their hands. "Having someone take care of her might kill the both em," Romeo mumbled. "Who'd be looney enough to do that?"

It was the question on everyone's mind. A sick child had to be looked after, there was arguing about it, but someone had to be present at all times. No working, no leaving, nothin'. There was always the fear of catching the illness and the cycle went on and on.

Without any hesitation, Race looked Cowboy square in the eye. "I'll do it,"

"What?" They all exclaimed, looking at him like he was an idiot.

  "Race, is you crazy? You could die!" Albert exclaimed.

" Laces is _my_ responsibility," He said, his voice beaking. "I...I'se been exposed to this before. I can't catch nothing."

  "Race," Crutchie said in a tone that resembled that of a mother. He didn't need one. Not now, not ever. "You could _die._ Laces would be broken if she lost you--"

"I's already lost one sister!" He snapped, slamming his cards down and making the boys jump. Immediately, he felt guilty. It was an unspoken rule in the Lodge that no one should make any sudden movements or noises. Finch and Smalls reacted the worse, but almost all the newsies had bad memories with noises. He lowered his voice. "My sister... she died when we's was little. I can't lose Laces too."

The boys went silent, but none of them expected Race to elaborate. They all learned in his first year of being a newsie that he didn't talk about his past, ever. It was the one and only subject Race never dared to bring up.

Jack looked at him, a look in his eyes that only came with years of making difficult decisions. It was at times like these that Race remembered they was all 18 or younger. He had turned 17 earlier that year and yet his entire life revolved around illness, death, poverty, and pain.

"There's nothing we's gonna do that gon' change yer mind, is there?" Jack asked. Race shook his head, knowing that there really _was_ nothing that would keep him from making sure Laces got the care she needed. Race was a windbag, sure, but no one could say he was a four-flusher. When he said something, he meant it. 

Jack left first, the rest of the boys followed, and that was that. While Jack and Crutchie went up to the roof and the others laid on their bunks to wait for the others to return, Race made a beeline for the bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed, holding a wet, cool rag to Laces' forehead. He wished he could say that she looked at peace, that she was only sleeping, but he couldn't. Her skin had a pale, yellowish tint to it; her lips were white, the only color on her being dried blood on her bottom lip. Tears ran down his face, and he held her hand, bowing his head.

  
" _Per favore,_ " he prayed, to a God he no longer believed in. To his father, who had died alongside his dream of leaving Italy. To his sister, a girl taken too young by disease at sea. To his mother, not even knowing if she was still breathing. To any and every deity that was listening and deigned him worthy of their attention.

 

_"Lasciala vivere"_

 

Race didn't leave Laces' side the entire time, 'cept to use the toilet. He stayed vigilante, heart aching every time a cough racked her tiny, frail body. Sometimes she'd wake up, frantic and terrified, but just one look at Race calmed her down. She'd be conscious enough at times to hold conversations, hold down some water.

"Race?" She breathed out, grabbing his attention. "Am...am I gonna die?"

 

He told her to go back to sleep.

 

Race would sleep at her feet, though he would hardly call it sleeping. He'd lay his head down and close his eyes for hours, hoping the covers muffled his sobs.

Though they weren't supposed to, the other newsie's hung around Laces' bed as closely as Jack allowed. They all played poker, told stories, talked about the day's pape, even held dinner on the floor, as close as they could come into contact. Race found out later that the other newsies had been taking on more papes everyday for him. To pay his rent, to pay for Laces' rent, to make sure he had money to fall back on when... when the situation was all over.

 

He didn't want to think about that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _" Sally "Laces" Knowles was discovered dead on December 13, 1998 at 8 a.m. from an unknown illness at the age of seven after being in Anthony "Racetrack" Higgin's care for a week and a half._ _Sally had been rescued off the streets of Manhattan by Charles "Crutchie" Morris and employed as a Newsgirl. She lived in the Manhattan Lodge, where she became close to Higgins, who is not of any relation to the girl but did not hesitate in risking his health when the girl fell ill... "_

 _-_ _The World: Jack "Cowboy" Kelly's Employee Log, December 14, 1898_

 

 

 

 

 

  When Race woke up that morning, something felt off. The air was too stiff, the noise level was too quiet, the atmosphere too stuffy. Somehow, he knew before he even lifted his head.

  Laces was dead.

  If possible, she was even paler than before, her skin now sporting a bluish hue. Her beautiful, pale yellow hair flowed around her shoulders, looking like a golden halo. Now, she _did_ look at peace, finally finding sleep.

  That broke Race's heart more than anything.

  He started sobbing. He sobbed so loudly that it transformed to screaming. Latching onto the girl's body, he screamed, screamed out of his mind.

  _No,_ he wanted to scream to God. _You weren't supposed to take her._

  He felt someone's hands catch his shoulder, but he just sobbed louder and threw himself on top of Laces, refusing to be pulled away from her. Then a pair of arms wrapped around his waist and he began screaming in earnest.

  " _No! Let me go! She needs me!"_ He screamed, kicking and thrashing as someone ripped him away from Laces.

  " _Let me go!_ " He screamed, barely noticing that he had woken up the entire lodge, who were groggily realizing what was going on. Race managed to twisted his body and saw that it was Jack holding him back.

 

  " _Please!"_

 

  His voice broke on that one word, but the Cowboy's grip on him never wavered.

  "Race! Race, look at me!" Jack screamed, holding Race to his chest and keeping him there. But it was futile, he was still screaming and thrashing. He had to get to Laces, he had to _help her--_

  _"Anthony!"_

With that one word, he stopped. Hell, the entire _room_ held their breath. A newsies' birth name was _never_ announced, whether it be for safety or personal reasons. It connected a newsie to the origins so many of them wished to forget. Jack knew that, he _knew that,_ and yet he had given away his name so easily. He looked at him and caught Cowboy's look of guilt and regret. Jack was never no good at hiding his emotions:

  It was why Race never played cards with him.

"Anthony, I--"

"Don't you _dare,"_ he hissed, finally able to break through his hold. "You don't _ever_ call me that."

That was when he noticed all of the other boys were staring: At him, at Laces, at the floor. He couldn't stop the flow of tears rushin' down his face and he wanted to turn away from them all. They'd think he was a fairy if he saw him cry more than he already had, but he needed to say it.

"If _anyone_ ," He said, voice dangerously low, making some of the newsies look incredibly nervous. "Calls me 'Anthony', I won't give you jus' a soakin' _, I'll kill you."_

Everyone involuntarily took a step back, eyes widening. It was common knowledge in the Lodge that Race had worked as a Brooklyn newsie before, and _no one_ ever left Brooklyn without blood on their hands. Even Jack had a twinge of fear in his eyes that Race rarely saw, the last time being when Crutchie had been taken up the river.

  He looked down at Laces, _his Laces,_ and brought her little blanket above her head.

 

  Then he ran.

 

  The wind nipped at his upturned collar, the tears running down his face making it even colder, but he couldn't stop running. It wasn't until he was at least miles away from the lodge that he allowed himself to slow down, slumping down an alley wall to shield himself against the wind.

  He furiously wiped his tears away, though they just kept coming.

  _You's pathetic_ he thought to hisself. _Laces would've lived if you--_

  Suddenly, he heard a loud clanging noise at the other end of the alley followed by yelling. He was 'bout to blow it off as some kid getting soaked, until the person screamed, louder this time.

 

  It was definitely a girl.

 

  Before he could think otherwise, he ran towards the noises to see some random joe towering above a girl who couldn't have been older than himself. The man was covered in dirt, his clothes ragged and torn. Even from a distance, Race could smell him. He was a street rat, and Race had learned from a young age to avoid 'em. Whereas a guttersnipe would make yas feel guilty enough to give 'em a penny or two, a street rat would follow ya until you was alone, waiting to pull a knife or barker on you. 

His hand was tangled in the girl's hair, trying to drag her off the concrete as he tugged at her skirt and easily took the punches and kicks the girl was attempting to throw at him.

"Get off-a me!" She yelled, fear creeping into her voice as the older man ripped the seams of her skirt. 

Race's blood boiled in anger and he quickly scanned his surroundings, looking for something, _anything_ he could grab. One of his closest friends in Brooklyn told him of how her father would get drunk and do things to her in the night that made his blood boil. He hated how girls in this city couldn't even walk down the street without having to look over their shoulders any time they walked by a man. A few feet away from his feet, he saw a long plank of wood, nails embedded into it. Rushing down the alley, he grabbed it, raised it above his head, and brought it down on the clearly intoxicated man's head, tumbling him to the ground. The girl was thrown to the ground and yelped as she landed. Race kicked the man in the guts, head, shoulders, anywhere his legs could reach. The man scrambled away, running down the alley before turning onto the busy street.

  " _And don't come back!"_ Race screamed, tossing the wooden plank away from him, shivering as the cold air hit him full force.

Breathing heavily, he turned back to see the girl looking up at him, eyes wide in awe and fear. Now, he was able to look at the girl in earnest. She was around 15, and she had the darkest skin Race had ever seen, even darker than Specs. Her thick, abnormal hair had apparently been styled, but a majority of her hair had escaped the clips and ribbons braided into it. Her simple dress seemed as if it had seen better days, and now the skirt was ripped in some areas.

He tossed the piece of wood away and knelt down, reaching out his hand to help her up. "Are you a'ight, miss?"

She refused his outstretched hand, coiling away from it as if it had physically burned her. "I'm fine," she spat, "Sir," she mumbled as an afterthought, and he could tell it pained her.

"You're not," Race said, looking at a nasty gash on her head. It must have been from when the man threw her back onto the ground. "You's bleeding. Lemme help you, miss."

The girl's eyes narrowed in confusion and she raised a hand to her forehead, wincing as her fingers came back coated in blood.

"Ok but... I ain't ever had a white man try'in help me," she mumbled, accepting his outstretched palm and slowly standing. She looked down at herself, sighing as she studied her skirt. "Damn," she cursed, surprising Race a little. He'd never known a gal to curse so openly around him, cept maybe Sniper. "Must've gotten torn when that bastard threw me to the ground." She cursed.

"I can get you another one," Race said without realizing how much of a loon he sounded. At the girl's look, he quickly added. "A-At the Manhattan Newsie Lodge," he explained quickly. "I'm a newsboy so I'se live there. We keep spare clothing in case the need arises. We's got lots of skirts and not many girls. I could find ya something."

  "I'm no charity case!" She snapped, but her eyes were full of pain and fear.

 

  He'd seen that look. It was the look permanently etched in Laces' eyes.

 

  "Please, miss," Race pleaded. "What kind of gentleman would I's be if I let a gal like you out alone in this storm? 'Specially without a coat."

  She looked uncertain but then looked down at her blood-stained hand. "You reckon someone there can stitch me up?"

Of course someone would be able to. With all the playfights and actual soakins', they had to keep a box full of medical items that Crutchie pocketed whenever he had enough money to pay for an actual doctor. Mush was the one to stitch them up and always chastised them over it. Race grinned for the first time in weeks as he remembered one time that he and Albert were dared to jump off the roof. It hadn't gone well and Jack kept them off the streets for a week.

  "We's all loons, miss. At least one of us gets patched every week."

The girl snorted, the semblance of a smile touching her lips. "Alright newsie. Lead the way."

\-----

  When Race waltzed back into the bunk room of the Lodge, multiple cries of "Race!" went up. Suddenly, three different kids (and Romeo) were on him, clinging onto his neck and his legs, almost throwing him to the ground.

  "For land's sake!" The girl next to him exclaimed, jumping back.

  "Alright!" Race yelped, nearly kicking them off of him. "I ain't dead yet, let go of me!"

  " _Racetrack!"_ A familiar voice called out, and Race would be lying if he said a chill _didn't_ go up his spine. He knew that voice. That was the voice that led a boy to be the King of Manhattan outta fear and respect. No one wanted to tussle with that voice, least of all Race. He watched in near horror as a pissed-off Jack Kelly approached him, steam almost rising outta his head.

  "Hi?" Race timidley said as Cowboy came to a stop less than a foot away from him. Before he could raise his hands to protect hisself from the blow that would certainly be coming, Jack's arms were wrapped around him, dragging him into a bone-crushing hug.

  Race yelped, startled. " _God_ , Race," Jack cursed, bringing a chuckle out of his second in command. "I ain't him," Race joked, making Jack groan and pull away. His angry demeanor was now replaced with one of worry and regret.

  "I's sorry, Racer. Really. I don't know hows I'm gonn' make it up to ya's."

  Race just smiled at his friend "Just don't say my name again and we's squared, a'ight Jacky?" Then his face grew serious. "Jack, I's found a girl on the street. Some street rat was over her, tryin' get her skirt off." He saw Jack's eyes go murderous again. Jack had soaked a man who had attempted to jump Smalls one day and ever since, none of the girls went selling without someone else with 'em or just a holler away by the corner. All they's girls were tough as nails, but even they knew they could use the help. "I needs to help 'er, Jack."

  He nodded and then his eyes found the girl, awkwardly lingering in the doorway. Drawing himself up a little, Jack made his way over while Race shooed the newsies around her away.

  "Miss, my name's Jack, I'm in charge of the newsies of lower Manhattan. My boy Race told me what happened," He said, voice quiet. "Are you alright Miss...?"

  She looked surprised at how genuine Cowboy's concern was, and Race couldn't say he was surprised. Newsies were less caring when it came to the color of ya skin, a brother was a brother, no matter what borough, but that couldn't be said for the rest of New York. Even his own newsies knew it. Less than a month ago, Specs had admitted to sleeping with a knife under his pillow for the first 2 months he was with the newsies, just in case someone decided to jump 'em.

  "Winnie," She said, sizing Jack up and down. It startled Race to think that he spent the good portion of an hour helping a gal out and he hadn't even asked her name.

  "M'name's Winnie Spence," She decided, reaching for her forehead. "My head got banged up a little and the bastard ripped m'skirt, but..." A smile crossed her face. "Your friend here got to me before he could do anything."

  Jack nodded, his own smile appearing. "I'm glad he did. How's 'bout we get our girl Smalls to find ya's some new clothes and then Mush cans stitch you up? He's no doctor, but he's helpful in a pinch."

  She nodded, but Race watched as her smile slipped off her face. She looked at something behind him and Race followed her gaze. Both their eyes found the one isolated bed in the corner, a worn blanket covering a too small body. A beat of silence passed before Miss Spence asked, "Who...Who is that?" When no one answered her, she looked at Race with sympathy in her eyes.

  "That's the girl you was tellin' me 'bout, innit? The girl who took ill?"

  Wordlessly, Race nodded.

  "Laces. Her name was Laces." The room went silent again as the newsies all looked cautiously at Race, wondering how he would react this time around. "Fetch her some clothes, Smalls," he finally said, turning to address the small girl.

 

  "A lady shouldn't be left in a ripped skirt."

 

**Author's Note:**

> PHRASES EXPLAINED:
> 
> "Only a damn lush would be crazy enough to be outta doors" - Only an alcoholic would be crazy enough to be outside
> 
> "...the bambini suffered the most." - The children suffered the most
> 
> "Coming through Ellis Isle as a ragazzino from Mezzogiorno" - Coming through Ellis Island as a boy from Mezzogiorno 
> 
> "Va bene," - All right 
> 
> "Usually a livewire, he'd have to tell her to hotfoot it if theys wanted to make it to their spot on time" - Usually an energetic child, he'd have to tell her to hurry up.
> 
> "...even Jack knew Laces was acting all possessed like lately." - Even Jack could tell Laces wasn't acting like herself lately.
> 
> "Crutchie acknowledged the corn" - Crutchie acknowledged the elephant in the room 
> 
> "Race was a windbag, sure, but no one could say he was a four-flusher." - Race is all talk, but he's not a liar. 
> 
> "Per favore... Lasciala vivere" - Please, let her live
> 
> "When Crutchie had been taken up the river." - When Crutchie was taken to jail (a.k.a. The refuge)
> 
> "Guttersnipes" - A homeless child who roams and sleeps in the streets
> 
> \-----
> 
> Y'all. I loved making Laces and I actually cried when I remembered I made her solely to kill her.   
>  This is pure angst, and I'm sorry about that, but this is necessary for the other parts. 
> 
> Anyone I love comments, leave them! Thank you so much for reading!! The next installment will be up in a few hours tbh. I have no control.


End file.
